1st Belleusian 'Free' Flaggers
by Commissar Caravan
Summary: A planet lost during the Horus Heresy is refounded by the Imperium a Millennia later. The planet's entire population lives in slavery to the four wardens of the planet, who govern their respective territories on the planet, are given an offer to gain their freedom by volunteering into the regiment being raised for the planet's tithe. Led by the inexperienced Warden of the East.
1. Chapter 1

**Alrighty righty. Warhammer 40k Fanfic. Wew. Ignoring most formalities and basic human decency. This fic is based on my 40k tabletop army. The first few chapters is basically the backstory, while later chapter hopefully will be actual games I've done with my army. Which means if someone named dies in-game, they die in this fic! Suspense! Anyway, the first chapter a bit dulling. Hopefully, I can figure out how to actually write in the chapters to come. **

* * *

The planet was a 'special' planet. Gazing out the Warden Palace's windows, and looking down from upon its grand balconies, you would see a bustling and buzzing city below a light, cloudy blue sky. It's slow industrialization spreading further into the rural areas surrounding it. It's Fedule building being replaced by factories and forges. Streets being remade with cement and horse-drawn carriages slowly being replaced by motorized vehicles. The populace who wandered the town's streets were of great variation.

Some sat down in front of alleys on wooden crates, dressed in yellow turbans and sandy cloaks, polishing apples and other orchard fruit they brought from the North to sell. Others carried heavy boxes to storefront to storefront, wearing dapper suits and feathered hats while men with rags hardly covering their body carried an equal load. The tall, strong, hairy, and less educated laboured shirtless, both men and women, on the planned, large construction sites littered throughout the city. Towering all but the palace looming overhead on a pleasant hill.

A man seated in a white trench coat, a fur hat placed loosely on his head, preparing a pelt. He worked on a wooden table, out on the street in the shade. His bow was laid by his game, while to his right a woman, dressed in a higher, though not high, level of social dress, fine-tuned the robotic cybernetic that took the place of her left arm.

Wagons carried supplies, horses snorted, men with technology embedded into their eyes walked alongside men with tattered sandals on their feet as equals. Women gave cold shivers, huddling alongside others who seemed uncomfortably hot in the lukewarm environment. Men dressed formally would wink at poor girls shirking into alleyways without a second's thought as they passed. Cars would pass through the cobbled roads, driving a bit until arriving at a concrete one to arrive in front of a large house, crafted exquisitely out of stone and polished wood, electricity flowing through it as it powered odds and ends when right across from it was a small straw shack

The city spanned thousands of miles. Progressing in technology and improvements at different paces, depending on what section of the city it was. Millions upon millions wandered, worked, shivered, waited, traded and migrated in and out of the city. Though industrialization was slow, this did not affect the massive size of the city. Every civilian, despite their clothes, profession, appearances or role in society, treated each other as equal. Because every civilian who didn't carry a pistol, or saber on their hip as they patrolled the streets, or did not ride in automobiles or fancy, well-crafted carriages were slaves.

In the North, 'There is strength in numbers' those who know that are the only ones who survive the scorching desert heat, under the watchful eye of the Golden Fox. In the south, only those who can provide for themselves and a feisty wife survive the unforgiving taiga and oceans of snow, living on under the gleeful eye of the Stoat. Those in the west can only survive the plains and light forests, though more deadly their fellow man if they knew how to keep a rifle on target and know how to keep their cybernetic limbs and organs in prime condition, under the stoic gaze of the Lynx. And finally, only those who can rub two coins together and create a third can survive in the 'Belle of Belleusia' the massive, multicultural city of the East. That thrives off the positives from the climate of the other region's personalities. All under the blood-shot eyes of the Snake.

She possessed the most expensive palace, or was it the largest out of the four? She forgot. She forgot many things. Some minor, like the comparison of her palace to the other three, and others were major, like how 'her' planet was just conquered and made Imperial. The Warden of the East, her fine velvet dresses covered by a large black cloak, trailing after her footsteps as she walked the halls of her home. A shining brooch of a snake was worn proudly on her breast. Similar signals of various snakes were strewn around her palace.

She was still on the fence on this- predicament. The old Warden of the North- No, east, her mother- no, her Grandmother, could have not been more joyful at this rebirth of the planet. The same Warden who condemned the entire planet into slavery to itself, restricting transportation and abusing her powers of the 'East.' She now walked to a Moot, having the joyful process of becoming an Imperial World placed on her shoulders. Already being forced to read dozens upon dozens of documents and other reports to get caught up with today's Imperium.

Her right hand twitched as she walked upon the radiant carpets lining her Great hall, colours of all kind shone into the room through stained-glass that lighted her path. She winced past the phantom pain in her right hand. Not slowing her hasty pace, she rose her hand and sent it a glare. The Mechanical workings of the replacement hand, a gift from the Warden of the West, were acting up sporadically.

"Third time this week… Maria damn you, Lloyd!" Her low mumbling systematically turned to a loud shout as she burst through the doors hiding her Parlor. She took three steps forward, her arms thrown in the air in mock exasperation, fell to her side. The halting taps of her steel-toed boots were the only sound in the large, open chamber, filled with multiple personalities. That being her household guard, some serving slaves, some of her Eastern Freemen whose interest were peaked, and the Three other Wardens of Belleusia.

"Ahh. The lovely Antienta. Stunning with her entrances as always." A muffled voice belonging to the Warden of the North attracted her bloodshot eyes.

"Oh, Lyten," She spoke in an just as dull tone, shrugging off her embarrassment. She sighed, glancing around her Parlor. A table had been set up in the Center of the room, with seats for five. The slaves quickly continued to go about their tasks, one bringing a jar of wine to serve the table. The Freemen and Women, dressed in formal clothes, quickly whispered behind their gloved hands while the Wardens re-settled in their feet.

Antienta gave a huff, nodding to herself as she bit her lip, wondering why there were freemen in her Palace. She shrugged on her cloak, colored black, which was covering the excess silk and velvet garments covering her. Tapping at the clasps over her shoulders, she started her walk again, acting as if she had just entered the room. Once again, the sound of her boots was the only in the parlour. It ends as she finally sat herself down in her designated seat. There was a chair on each side of the table, and the extra chair crammed into her right.

"Now," She paused, thinking of what to say next. She brushed the locks of champagne coloured hair that were covering her left eye, tucking it behind her ear. Only for it to fall back into place. Letting loose another sigh, she gazed at the three personalities before her. Seeing through the threads of her hair. The Warden of the North, clothed in his bland desert attire, a cloak covering that, his face covered by a sandy mask, the rest of his head covered in a yellow turban. A pin of a fox on his golden cloak. The Warden of the West sat directly across from her, glared at her with his red, glowing eye, with veins of iron running into his skull. Along with the rest of his left face. A monstrosity of a mechanical genius in her opinion. She passed over him, and his 'military' uniform of the militia he created out of his House Guard. And finally, the Warden of the South. A tall woman, towering above the other Wardens. Her trench coat gleaming and brimming with gold and silver, and red hair jutting out of her black fur hat and sunk to her high collar. A toothy grin was frozen on her face as her golden eyes looked at Antienta intently.

Antienta raised her right hand, shaking herself and examining its flat, smooth palm, then looking at it's back, wires running into her covered forearm and glowing tubes lighting up dimly as she flexed her hand. Though the inspection was odd, her metal fore and middle fingers twitched while her last two were arched to touch her palm. Painfully refusing to comply with her commands.

"While I love the generosity, Lloyd, the… functions… more so the malfunctions are-are quite unpleasant." Venom was present in her ending words, matching the glare of her tired eyes.

The red eye of the Warden of the West was unwavering. The corner of his metallic mouth twitched, "Maybe… it's not the… producer… of the product-" The Warden's low, dragging voice of steel and copper was interrupted.

"Yes, yes, spiffing. Now, to matters of actual importance." Antienta quickly passed over his words and pressed on with the moot. Waving a hand to the right, where one of her household slaves quickly ran over and placed a small stack of papers in front of her. As Antienta spoke, she shuffled and picked through the stack.

"I shall keep this short, and hope you are all up-to-date on your child-friendly Imperium facts. I believe we were sent a few books-We need a, ah- 'Planetary Governor' as per regulations. Along with a 'Commissar,' a few hundred files of paperwork, some massive reeducation projects, formalization of the Imperial Cult, adding of a few Aquilas here and there, a standardized PDF, or 'Planetary Defense force' A large militia or what-not, and of course, a Tithe."

She gave a moment's pause to examine each face of the Wardens. The North's face was covered, his icy eyes gave nothing but annoyance away, the West's face was as stoic as ever, while the South's face was filled with bewilderment. Antienta sighed, shutting her eyes and thinking over everything for a moment. Thinking on how to continue her always winged conferences.

"Why… Why we give tooths to become a colony?" Antienta jerked her head up and gave a blank stare at the Warden of the South. Her rough voice not helping the comprehension of her horrid grammar. Though in any other situation, the Warden of the East would have smiled at that, probably send a howl of laughter at her too, though now was not that time.

"Tithe… T-i-t-h-e. Not teeth, a tithe. A payment, Shri. A payment." The Warden of the North whose attention was also grabbed by the Warden of the South walked her through the definition of a tithe with the fewest words possible with great annoyance.

Shri placed an elbow on the table and reached up with her other hand and stroked her chin. "Ah…" She nodded along, squinting past Lyten. Antienta could easily assume she didn't understand anything. She gave a huff and glanced over the table once more. Loyd's red eye bored into her unsettlingly.

"Our tithe is a regiment- an army… mother wouldn't have liked this… or would she?" Antienta muttered her ending, glancing once more at everyone's face, trying to understand their opinions on the matter. She tapped her left fingers on the table, combing over her thoughts as she tried to find the best way to explain everything. An administrative agent had landed on the planet, handed her some documents, and left to attend to 'Other vital matters' In a galaxy of only war, she could only imagine. She neglected to remind herself about space travel.

"A force of, uh," She trailed off, parting her mouth and grinding her teeth together, "One and a half million, yes." She would have stopped to give her customary pause, The Warden of the South did this for her, by spitting her spiced wine across the table and shouting. Gaining two disgusted faces and a scowl.

"Two MILLION men?!" The Warden of the West offered a stone grimace, while the North simply showed wide eyes. "That's more than my entire hunting fleet!" She shouted once more, applaud.

"One and a half actually, but yes. Now we simply need the manpower, no need to train or arm them, a representative of the-ahem- Ordo… No- Officio Prefectus… will oversee that with his own materials. Transports should be dropping in soon enough. Yes, now, to keep matters short, you will spread propaganda or what-not of glorious war and you'll offer anyone their 'freedom' for volunteering in the Regiment. It'd diversify our population. I'll leave the numbers up to you all. And finally-"

"I don't recall... the Warden of the… East having so much… authority… do you?" The chilling voice of metal interrupted Antienta. The Warden of the West sent a scowl to the entire table. Antienta faced him directly and bit her lip. She then chuckled.

"No, no I don't. But, seeing how we are all to be replaced with a Governor, that has the powers of a king, with full authority of the planet with no checks, successors, and receives the income of all regional and government property and services, that being every one of our cities save our private estates, which of course, doesn't generate much income, isn't that great. But, it must be done. So, seeing that point said. I shall be leading this regiment of ours. We have a few months to raise the appropriate manpower, or was it a year? Anyway, I leave it up to you three to choose a governor. Which of course, might I add. Have no authority or command over me, or my private estate and property of the Heart of the Belle since I am hereby Colonel… Antienta… snake? Erm… no… of the Astra… Militarum!" A delayed smug smile split upon her lips as she looked back at the Faces of the Three Wardens, reclining back in her seat as her eyes gleamed.

Due to a quick, scrapped up plan of ending the moot as she always loved to do, she had a household slave bring her a pen and a parchment of paper which was one of the several hundred given to her by the agent of the Administratum. Which was to be given to the Regimental Commander of the regiment that has been listed to be raised. Hundreds more were to be sent to the already 'selected'' Planetary Governer who's name was not even listed. She thought herself rather clever. Take that commission herself, protect her estate and region, and most importantly her city. And as an added bonus, she had only half the paperwork to do. She finished signing off the parchment, signalled a slave to come and pick it up. Stood up from her seat, spun around with her cloak and dresses behind her. Her face suddenly falling out of view of everyone. She left her Parlor the way she came. "Wardens..."

* * *

"It ain't much… but hey, it's honest work." A northerner's voice sounded cheerfully in a forced voice, mimicking a man right next to him. "Gah… I only said that once..." A southerner growled back at his fellow worker. Cleaning up the table where the moot was held, picking up the chairs and the table itself and throwing it in a dark corner until it was needed again. They gave a quick nod of the head at the Warden of the East as she passed by them once more. She liked to pace through the entire palace when she was bored or waiting for something. Still, her slaves slaved, her guard's guard, and her scribes wrote away with ink at the hundreds of documents she was supposed to sign herself. The palace halls and rooms were all lined with stained-glass, and occasional breaks of carpet to be replaced by polished wood and marble.

The other Wardens had already left with their retinues. Heading off to their cities and affairs. The moot didn't last that long after Antienta's departure. The Warden of the South got drunk, The Warden of the North didn't say a word. The Warden of the west, after a while silence, stood up and said a few words.

"I'll leave you your farms and towns, but I want half the income of your city's."

The Warden drew a golden coin from his pocket, with a stag imprinted on its side, threw it on the table, and then the Warden of the West left.

"Huh… Freedom. Funny word that is." The Southerner mused to himself as he picked up a glass, examining it before placing it on a tray he held. The Northerner let out a laugh, "Are you really thinking about volunteering?" A smile was stuck on his tanned face as he meaninglessly wiped at the table they were standing around. The Southerner shrugged, placing another glass on his tray carefully. "I dunno, Milio. Life's just dead end here. Not even here, this entire fucking planet! Fuckin… Warde-" He quickly shut his mouth and averted his eyes as he heard the sound of Antienta's boots coming back down from the Grand Hall of the Palace. The doors were thrown open to the Parlor, and she quickly paced through the room.

"Ha! Best not to say that out loud, Quorin! But yes, I see your point." He bit his cheek, speaking as soon as Antienta had left the room. Leaving the two alone in the Parlor. "Not that crazy of an idea, I'll be honest," He tossed whatever he was using to wipe the table back on the bare, wood and took a step back. "Wonder what the pay like, huh… probably less than what those westmen pays for those cyber parts," This got a scuff out of Quorin, who agreed with a chuckle. He finally settled with a sigh, "Who knows, maybe she'd be looking for a retinue or something. It'd probably be her household guards, but hey, who knows?" Milio hummed in an agreement.

He glanced over himself, plain in a simple white collared shirt and black dress pants. then looked over at Quorin, wearing the same thing with the small collar pins of the Eastern Snake on him. By no means were they the fat household slaves that resided in the West Palace, but they weren't the agile, collective runners of the North or the tough hunters of the south. But they did their job without the aid of animals, mass number, or any augmentations. Then again, they were merchants, dealing with coin and shipments. Hunting the occasional stag that wanders from the south and hiring the other slaves to do the rougher work.

"Eh, we got time. Well, I dunno. I bet you twenty coin that those million will be prying down every Warden's gate trying to get off this world and outta slavery as soon as the news spread."

* * *

It had been three days. Or was it three weeks? "Doesn't matter anyway…" A low murmur was heard in the Colonel's chambers. Antienta stood before a marble sink, her hands gripping the sides and her head leaned over to get closer to the mirror. Gawking at the imagine gazing back at her. Her face was clean, no scars or any marks showing. Her hair was a tangled mess, some of it trained to sway before her left eye. As for her eyes, unnaturally bloodshot and greenish, they stared back at her, tired as always.

She scoffed at the image mocking her by its mere presence. Having the audacity to dress assume she was tired, which meant she was weak, which she would have no one accuse her of being. Pushing away from the sink, she spun a little and walked back into her bedchambers. She was dressed only in her unsurprisingly green smallclothes. Well, fit for her more or less average figure. She always thought her hips were too wide.

Everything was green. The Velvet, carpets, silk and mail; The sheets, the blinds, the cushions and jewels. Even some Relic blades and ornate armour from the previous Warden's rule was a bright emerald. Strewn about the palace in elaborate glass cases or tall stands watching over the halls. At least the palace exterior was coated a rather fitting snow-white, while the rest of the city was a large mixture of colour and paint.

"Take my coin, feel my bite…" She let loose a large sigh, mentally preparing for the gruelling task of starting her day. She called for two of her maids to dress her, and in a few minutes, she was clothed in all her dresses and jewellery. She donned the black cloak that would annoyingly billow behind her as she rushed. She had planned to place her emblem on the back of the cloak but never got around to it. One of her younger maids managed to quickly throw a rose behind her ear, stolen from a forgotten pot of various flowers. While she generally hated having things in her hair, the innocent smile of the maid made her overlook it.

She finally got her steel-toed boots on and placed the brooch on her breast. Fixing the rose placed over her right ear, she gave a sigh, before walking out of her chambers and into the grand halls of her palace.

Of course, she would meet no interesting personalities whilst wandering her halls. Her days as of late have been of little note or purpose. Her scribes still scribbling away at paperwork in their offices, and the odd slave throwing soap and cloth at one of the many statues or bronze decorations in her palace. She had forgotten where their quarters were, but she couldn't care less. As she wandered further, she stumbled across a dusty and obviously abandoned room of her palace. The door concealing the room was painted a bloody red, a crack ran down its centre, and the slightest hint of a misty smoke flowing from the foot of the door, disappearing as soon as it reaches the hall.

She stared at it for naught a second before moving on. There were secrets in all the Warden's palaces, and there was some she didn't want to learn. She continued walking before stopping at an open door leading into a classroom. She peeked in to see a single student being tutored by an older, and well-dressed man. The student, aging no more than four or five, glanced over at Antienta, a smile split on his face as she offered a little wave. The smile made her grin, but she quickly ran off as the Tutor rushed the door, searching for whoever disrupted his lesson even if for but a second.

Antienta managed to outrun the old man, who didn't even leave his classroom. She let out a sigh, her thoughts moving away from the ward and instead to thoughts of a pit match as she sped through some unremarkable halls and made it to the central 'Throne room'. It was much like the parlour, expect the main part of the room was elevated, and two spiralling staircases, flanking either side of the filled platform with a large Viper painted on its front. The Snake of the East seemed to change every hallway. The palace has experienced many Wardens of the East. Each picking their own snake as their personal symbol. Antienta had her own, but it was named after an old, 'cursed' land where a revolution occurred. She decided it was best to use a simple snake.

There were multiple tables thrown about at the foot of the stairs, spread out the room. These were made of simple wood and many free Easterners would have a heart attack if they were asked to sit there. Apparently, it was noon, and most of the slaves who worked the of the palace were eating. She truly didn't care, there were hundreds upon hundreds of slaves working in her estate. She didn't know the numbers. It would be a hassle, and waste of coin to try and supervise them all. So, she let them do whatever as long as food was served, cups kept full, and the palace's interiors sparkling clean. Unlike the north, where you would be put in the mines for making a simple mistake, the west, where you would be used as target practice or the south where you would probably be thrown into a pit with a few starving wolves and be gambled on. Antienta would simply gather up the majority of the slaves and make an annoying announcement. The problem would fix itself overnight.

Antienta weaved through the tables, getting bows of the head, formal greetings, or even smiles by the bold. She made her way to the center of the room and found a table with a man and a woman sharing a loaf of bread and a block of cheese. She asked one to get her a scribe and a few percents of paper, along with a pen. She stood impatiently as the two jumped from their table and abandoned their food to find what Antienta had ordered. Not long after, the two returned with an older man. Antienta quickly spat out her instructions.

Not caring for her image when among her slaves, she stood up upon her table, with the help of both the slaves. She then shouted, catching the attention of everyone in the central room, brandishing a piece of lined paper. "Whoever signs this parchment shall have their chance of freedom!" Not waiting for a second more, she placed the paper down and hopped off the table. She ordered five more pens and turned to the two slaves there originally.

The man was an easterner, while the girl was a west man. The girl odd enough had no visible cybernetics. Her hair was a blonde mess, eyes a rare red. She wore the regular attire of her estate, which revealed nothing of note of her figure. At least she could say she wasn't fat. While the man had green eyes, his hair short and burnt. He was taller than the girl, standing around the same as Antienta, both being 5"11.

"Age?" Antienta asked quickly, assuming the table would be rushed by slaves seeking freedom soon enough. The man was 19, while the girl was 17. Both stood awkwardly, the man being two inches shorter than the girl. "Name?" They chirped out their names, The man's name was Polkn, while the girl's name was Naydma. Their last names were both Ambrose, but Antienta knew it was a bastard name in the East. She nodded and spun around, quickly making her way out of the central room and advanced to her parlour. She wanted to take a walk. Though she made a mental note to have a scribe write down their names.

She frowned suddenly as she stepped out of her estate's grand entrance. A rolling path of cement paved a path through kempt grass of her yard leading to a small archway holding the main gate of her estate. The 'Main Gate' was the entire city's main gate. On its sides lined fencing that spanned on miles around her land. She couldn't explain her displeasure, as she was exposed to the cool winds of the east. Maybe leaving her palace finally gave her a sense of realism about what she was doing. Leading men into combat when she had no experience leading men unknown to her into battle. Maybe it was because she was leaving her home for maybe the last time. Maybe because she was leaving her lands to the cruel treatment of the other wardens, maybe because the men sent to oversee the planet and her regiment still haven't arrived. Or maybe it was because she didn't like how the sun looked in the sky.

The yard was empty, though the gate was manned. And small groups of her guard walked outside, alongside the fence in patrol. She squinted in the sky, wishing for a 'metal bird' to break through the flowing clouds and land at her gates. She was overcome with a great desire to leave this planet. She had been informed of Imperial identification and aircraft, along with travel among the stars. Sighing, she called out for a carriage, wishing to visit the Warden of the South. There was a pit match she had been wanting to see.

* * *

Punching wolves and starving dogs until they were dead was not Levy's immediate thought of his first duty as Regimental. He could imagine it wasn't the Planetary Commissar, his Superior as a junior, either. Yet, here he was in a pit fight with a man of 79, a bullet in his left forearm, and sharing said pit with dozen starving beasts, and a few dozen more dead around him and the corpse of two guardsmen missing their flak armour laid behind them.

He threw his left arm in front of his eyes, flinching back as a set of fangs clamped down on his torn arm. Adding to the number of bites and clawing he had suffered in the last few hours. The dog jerked it's head back and brought him down, shaking its head wildly as its teeth tore further into his arm. It let out a squeal as a hand gripped its snout, tore the dog's head off the arm and threw it to the ground. Not letting it scramble away, he planted his heel on the dog's head and stomped down on it, caving its head in with his boot.

He turned around to see the old man on his back, wrestling with the final dog amongst a pile of three fresh kills. Levy fell into a sprint, upon reaching the aging Commissar, he kicked the dog square in the stomach. It gave a cry and flew a near foot away. It wouldn't have a chance to get up before Levy brought his boot down, a satisfying crunch sounding as the mutt's ribs were broken and shards sent into its innards. It let out a final cry before the life disappeared in its hungry eyes.

He spat at the dog and spun around, his uniform tattered, torn, and smeared with mud and other questionable content. He had lost his peaked cap, his sword and bolt pistol taken away from him, and his great coat in need of some refinement. He walked back to the fallen man with a glint in his grey, oddly lively eyes. He extended a hand which the man in no better condition eagerly took.

Levy chuckled out as he hoisted the man back on his feet. "This is the last time I survive a Valkyrie crash…" Tossly snorted, shaking himself and wiping some blood off his bleeding sleeve. "This' the last time I'm frakking retiring!" The old man with greying hair and a poorly shaven face spun around and yelled to the top of the pit energetically. "Frakk you, you cunt!" His and drawn out insult directed to the 'Queen' of this planet.

The Queen or whatever her title was is a tall woman in a trench coat who's decoration surpassed an experienced Commissar. All the woman seemed to do was roar out for more beer or ale, shout jeers at the two, and call out for more dogs or slaves. She sat on a large seemly glass throne that loomed over them from the top of the pit. Surrounding her were what appeared to be some nobles, her guards, and hundreds of peasantry gawking down at them from small stands erected around the pit, spitting out jeers and throwing their trash and wasted food.

"Been keeping count?" Levy shouldered the Tossly, "Dogs, or hours?" "Both," Tossly said nothing, only huffing as he shook some blood from his right forearm. Shaking his head as he rolled his shoulders. Levy glanced to his left, where an iron gate separated them from both freedom and another wave of beasts. " I wonder what the Tactica Imperialis has to say about combating mutts with your bare fists?"

* * *

"Antienta! How good to see you! Just in time for the next wave." Shri gave a grin and even stood up to greet the Colonel as she finally jostled her way past the crowds of southerners who gleefully watched the deathmatch below them. Laws weren't that present on Belleusia.

"As well as you," Antienta nodded by the welcome, her attire not changing in the slightest despite the frozen conditions in the south. The north and south were opposite extremes in their temperatures. The fighting pit and the stands were covered by a makeshift roof, consisting of nails, glue, and brittle logs. Shri's smile was frozen on her face as she gestured to a seat to her left.

Antienta gave a final bow of her head before she lost the majority of her formality. The chair to the left of the Warden of the south's seat was reserved for honoured guests, while the right was either the Wife or Husband of the Warden. She sat back in the plainly carved wooden seat with a carpet lazily draped over it, spreading her legs and closing her eyes. She settled in the seat. Raising her hand as she roared over the crowd for a drink. The pit fight had continued and the crowd was relit with excitement.

"So! Who's who?!" Antienta continued shouting over the crowd to Shri, who was sat less than a foot, but much higher than herself. "Some Westmen who were caught killing some of me Stags! OOOH!" She suddenly stood up and let out a roar, tossing her hands in the air and slugging a guard next to her, holding out her large hands to receive a won bet.

Antienta's eyes narrowed as she could hardly see the fight because of the crowd around the rim of the pit. She sat there impatiently, tapping her silent foot as she waited for something to happen so she could see. Rolling her eyes she stood up from her seat and pushed forward, shouldering slaves and freemen alike to get to the front. She had to push past nearly thirty slaves to get an insight into the fight. She finally remembered stealing someone's drink and smashing it over his head as a hand jut out of the crowd and groped her breast. Though that was probably her imagination.

Finally reaching the front, she peered into the pit to finally see the fight.

The two 'Westmen' were obviously freemen at one point, judging from their tattered clothes and torn greatcoats. The older man's attire was coloured black while the other red. Around them stood a couple of dozen corpses of dogs and other southern beasts, But their current combatants seemed to be a gaggle of northern slaves. "SEND IN THE SANDY FUCKS!" Shri's voice boomed over everything. Originally twelve but dwindled down to six, more slaves poured into the pit. She shouldered the faceless man next to her and asked which wave it was. "12 I think! It-" His attention was recaptured by the pit fight as the first casualty ensued.

* * *

"Finally. A challenge!" Tossly grumbled mockingly at the appearance of their next fight, kicking down the man whose windpipe he had just crushed. For an old man set to retire to a cozy 'pleasure' world, he was still an able combatant. A bunch of ragged men, probably half-starved and with Tallarn-like attire. Levy shrugged, "Huh, they actually get blades," He made a comment at the butcher knives and other crude weapons they held, and how the first six they had just killed only had their fists. Tossly grunted, shaking his old bones once more for a fight. "For the Emperor," He said more annoyed than anything. Levy gave a final chuckle, "For the Emperor,"

Levy ducked under the backhand and swing aimed to cleave his head off, he made the assault pay by sending a right-hand hook to the back of his head. Ignoring the fallen man, he moved on. There was only six of them, with another down and Tossly already on the ground either choking or being choked. Levy pressed on, having little thought or care of anyone at the moment.

He slid back, avoiding another cut, he stepped forward catching the next assailant in the cheek with his right fist. He struck him in the ribs with a follow-up but could do no more as a weight crashed into his shoulder, then a foot was taken from under him.

Sticking his gloved thumbs into the eyes of the man atop of him, a left jab, and right hook, a cut on his arm, a slice on his great coat, wrestling a man onto the floor just to smash his head on the frozen ground. A blade sliding in between his ribs, a laceration on his palm, At one point he remembered holding a twisted knife in his hands. It went through two necks, parried a blade than snapped like the useless piece of metal it was. Near the end of the wave, signalled by the lowering of the crowd's insanely noisy voices that even a traitor of Slaanesh would have been annoyed of. Levy noticed that there were a lot more humanoid bodies around him than the six original fighters near the end.

He grabbed the last fighter's throat, squeezing tight, he pulled him close, kneeing him in the stomach and throwing him back. Following up, he kicked the fighter's right foot from out under him and stomped on his groin. He then planted the heel of his boot on the fallen man's forehead and stomped down, killing the last fighter.

He sighed, slumping a bit at the shoulders. He turned around to see Tossly surprisingly on his feet. Levy felt himself slowly degrading in strength as a third hour almost passed. He couldn't imagine how Tossly felt. He looked up at Tossly's eyes and saw a dead man standing. His face was drenched in sweat, his right eye flickers between open and shut and he was gasping in breaths of air. His face was painted with dirt and blood. "Just… like… Like…" Levy rushed forward once again to catch the aging Commissar as he fell forward.

Whether the fight had ended in total and the crowds dispersed immediately, or either in awe or shock for the old man finally faltering, it was more or less silent "S'pposed to be an easy retirement…" Levy murmured as he dropped the man where he stood. The corpse stood up for a second, he caught a final glimpse of Tossly's eyes before he fell back. It didn't matter if he was dead or living when he fell, he would die in the next few minutes to come. He felt a small pang of emotion. A small one.

He took a few steps forward and bent down, reaching into the dying Commissar's greatcoat to draw a bloody Uplifting Primer. Tossly's primer was always a mess. The pages torn, cover scorched, and a bullet of some kind making a hole in the bottom right corner. Once being a Regimental Commissar attached to a Death Korps regiment, he always claimed he never had time to get a new one or maintain the old one. Levy himself had his primer in his coat, though not knowing its condition, it had probably saved his life a few times in this fight alone. He looked through it, ignoring the crowd's rising commotion. He glanced at its first pages, where Tossly had written his own information on it. Levy sighed and tossed the primer on Tossly's soon to be a corpse. The dying man made no noise and the ruined book hit his bleeding chest. Spinning around, he searched the ground for his peaked cover, glaring at the ground he finally found it.

Kicking over two dead men and a wolf, Levy recovered the intact, but horribly decorated the peaked cover. Excess mud and blood splattered over it as the dead men piled over it split their innards over it. He held the cover and spun it to remove some of the gore off of it. Spinning it twice, he looked up to the crowd, glaring at the first set of eyes he saw. Levy could have probably hoisted Tossly up to the point where he could have crawled out the pit, but he shook the thought from his head.

A woman with a fancy dress stood glaring back at him. Her hair was more or less a tamed mess, and he found a rose tucked behind her ear. He noticed a glistening brooch on her breast. He stared at her for a second, catching her tired eyes, before placing the cover on his head and walking back to the assured corpse of Tossly. Dismissing the woman from his thoughts and trying to remember the prayer for the dead. Not a second he turned around a sheik of horror sounded behind him. He ignored it at first, his ears simply tuning out the scream. He reached the corpse of Tossly, his empty eyes staring up into overhead wood. Levy let out a dry chuckle, smirking at his old mentor. He only turned around as the horrified words reached his ear.

* * *

"STOP THE FIGHT! STOP IT! GET THEM OUT OF THERE NOW!" Antienta howled, spinning around and screaming at the top of her lungs. Almost immediately the large crowd fell silent, the majority of the crowd's attention drawn to the outburst of the Colonel. She stood there, her face red and fists clenched. She stomped forward, outright pushing her way to where the Warden of the South sat. As let out another scream as she saw the appeal face of Shri

"DO YOU KNOW WHAT YOU'VE DONE?!" She demanded in a shrill voice. She didn't wait for an answer before she spun around and marched back to look at the pit, the crowd parting before her. She threw a finger and pointed at the only man standing in the pit. "That is an Imperial Commissar!" She screamed in a less booming tone at Shri, who still sat shocked in her seat, didn't say a word.

"Get him out of there!" She screamed at the closet face she could, pulling on his collar and pushing him away, then stomped back to Shri. "You just killed the Planetary Commissar! You just kidnapped the two most important powers of this world and put them in a pit! And made them fight to the death! What did you do with their ship?! What did you do with their escort?! Their men?! WHAT HAVE YO-"

Antienta did not know how long she ranted, screamed, and nearly cried. Shri had not spoken a word yet still managed to exclaimed just as a bullet entered her skull. She almost found it funny, no, she did find it humorous. Very humorous. How the red, flustered and shocked face of the Warden completely ceased to exist. Rather, an explosion of gore and blood took place. A loud shot nearly deafened her left ear.

She spun to her left, gawking at the Imperial Figure she had recognized too late standing with a fierce look on his face. Steaming blood dripping onto the frosty ground as his left arm was extended, a pistol was in hand and smoke rising out the barrel. "How…" She muttered to herself, wondering not only how fast time has passed, or even how he had even got up her and rearmed when it seems like she had just started screaming just a second ago.

He lowered his left arm and craned his head forward, and spat at the headless body's foot. As soon as he turned to face his 'saviour' the raggle of southerners over and their shock came upon him in a mindless fury with cries and roars of bloodlust. The Commissar went down in a flurry of nails, knives, pistols and rags. In seconds the Commissar disappeared from sight.

Antienta took a step back, her left ear did not recover, and she could hardly see or understand anything before her. Her eyes blurred quickly as a sudden feeling of lightheadedness struck her. She suddenly found herself staring down the sight of an ordinate pistol. She had never fired it before, nor had she ever drawn it before. She couldn't see anything as her finger pulled at the trigger, and lost feeling after she felt a light push on her back. She felt the floor as it came up to meet her face. Everything went black.

**_"Blood for the blood God..._**"

Green. Everything green. The sky was always green. The walls, the floor, her dresses. What another color would they be? She then opened her bloodshot eyes. Only just to see more green. She sighed, shutting her eyes again and trying to go back to sleep. Her room was dark, but no doubt the sun was trying to pry its way into her chambers. She ignored whatever was brushing against her right leg and shifted uncomfortably. Her room was dead silent, though she heard shallow breathing to her right. As soon as the ringing appeared in her eyes she threw her bedsheets in the air and slid out of bed. She stumbled a bit as her bare feet touch the floor, wincing as pain flared in her upper back. Groaning, she hobbled more or less to her bathroom's door across the room from her bed.

Apparently, she too was beaten when she fell to the ground. If she even fell that night. Or was it a day? Her memory did not improve whatsoever nor did the pair of eyes staring back at her in the mirror. Her eyes never improved, they only worsened. She had a purple bruise on her right cheek, dried blood on her nose and another bruise on the bridge of her nose, and a cut starting from her left cheekbone and extending to the corner of her lip. "Another gift from the south…" She commented on the probable scar and passed over it and it's the gruesome effect on her face. She glanced down at her chest to see she had taken a few punches in the stomach, bruises dotting her body. A single cut was left across her right collarbone which she traced gingerly with two fingers. She noticed she was only wearing a dark bra she had not seen before. She gave a dry chuckle, pushing away from the sink, she turned and entered her chambers. She ignored the stranger resting in her bed and turned to her wardrobe.

"Green, green, green, green, green…" she muttered as she swiped through her dresses in the dark. There was one black dress, but that was for mourning purposes and probably a few sizes too small. All she had was her cloak that was a different colour than green. She didn't bother calling up her maids to get dress. She slipped into her silks and velvets, fitting tighter than usual around her figure. She glanced at her shadowy figure in the mirror propped up against the wall behind her. Narrowing her glinting eyes as she couldn't see herself in the dark room.

"Thought it was s'pposed to be a black and white world…. not black and green." She Complained loudly as she spun from her wardrobe and slid across her with her bare feet trotting across the emerald rugs. She saw a chair was pulled up next to a drawer hugging the wall across from her bed. Her eyes adjusting to the dark, Antienta noticed the peaked cap that finally led her to recognize the Imperial Agents in the fighting pit, hanging off the chair. Walking around it she found the stranger's mended uniform folded neatly on the chair while his polished boots laid next to said chair. Glancing at the drawer, she remembered she lacked socks or panties. Fishing some out of the drawer, she slid on the socks and placed a foot on the back of the chair. Inconveniently and out of tiredness, Antienta spent a long while slowly slipping her laced small wear up her left leg, only to realize soon after she only had one leg in the laces. Not letting go of the small clothes, she hobbled around rather hopelessly, trying to fit her other foot in. She hopped around for a second or two before her head snapped to her bed.

"Having trouble?" The pained voice of the stranger occupying her bed cause Antienta to pause in her efforts of getting fully dressed. She balanced on one foot as she glared in his direction. She made the outlines of his head and some of his face. But she couldn't quite tell if his eyes were open, or tell if there was a smile or smirk on his face. Nonetheless, she fell backwards as she was unfocused in her basic task of staying upright. The stranger chuckled but cursed immediately as laughing seemed to hurt. Antienta said nothing and instead took her time on the floor to get dressed. She made an effort to stand successfully, wiping the oxygen off her dress she spun around walked hastily towards her curtains, which she quickly grabbed and three open, sunlight filled the room. Everything did hurt, but the pain was ebbing away. The stranger let out a groan and shuffled in her bed. She spun around, glancing at the stranger. His eyes were closed, a hand raised to block the sunlight cast directly into his face, A loose undershirt covered his chest and probably nothing else. His face fared much worse than hers, and she could safely assume the rest of him did no better. She threw open the other set of curtains on the other side of her bed and moved on.

She said nothing as she threw the stranger's cover at him from a short distance away, the hat landed at his feet. He was fully awake as he leaned forward and snatched it up, laying back and placing it over his head. She raised an eyebrow but said nothing as she picked up his bundled clothes and dropped it on top of him. She was about to walk away before he spoke.

"You have my thanks… for my life… consider me in your… 'debt'" She glanced at him with a bloodshot eye over her shoulder. His voice was rough, but oddly enough had that sense of nobility around it. She made a note on how sparingly used the word 'debt' and recalling what she knew of Commissars she doubts it meant anything. She hummed and continued walking, heading for her door. It was the first time a stranger had shared her bed and offered her a 'thanks'. She rolled her eyes at herself, knowing full well this was the first time anyone had shared her bed.

She had made good progress as she rushed down her hall before the sudden appearance of the stranger, clothed in his full appeal, appeared behind her. Half limping after her with a stiff right leg. She more or less ignored him as she kept her brisk pace. Her mindfully set on the predictable response of the South. No doubt some freeman, or the captain of the guard would rally the South and attempt something absurd.

"I don't believe I've had the honour of knowing your name," she left him in silence for a few seconds, before responding harshly. "Commissar, while I would love to treat you to a formal welcome, your… distasteful arrival has created some difficulties I do need to solve." She glanced over her shoulder, still keeping her pace. She noted that he had already found his weapons. A sword on his belt and the same pistol used to kill Shri was in a holster. "What type of difficulties." His sober voice was something new to her ears, compared to the accents of Lyten, the droning of Lloyd, and the roaring of Shri. "Oh, you know, a funeral, flowers, and The possibility of being at war." She answered in an upset tone. "A revolt?" "No, well..." Her answer was short as she turned descended down a set of stairs.

The Commissar's boots sounded heavy behind her. "Are you not the Planetary Governor?" He asked. "Hmm? Oh, no, no. I am the Colonel. I'm sure the paperwork is around with one of the slaves, anyway the Governor would be the Warden of the West. No worries, you killed the Southern Warden. Now, Lloyd wouldn't care if a Warden was killed, but seeing how the blame would most likely be placed on me. You being in my care, or… Yes, actually-he'll try to take me out of power and lynch me or something."

The Commissar stopped in his tracks, mulling over her rushed and confusing rants of Information., Only to rush after Antienta after she burst through a set of doors just to go down another set of stairs, and hop through yet another door.

"This... is my parlour, and you should be seeing the 'Heart of the Belle' soon enough- Slave! Get me the Captain at the Main Gate!" She yelled at the first man she saw before continuing on. "Slaves?" The Commissar asked curiously. "Yes-" She pushes through another set of doors, and then a final set before emerging outside her estate. "Everyone is a slave save those who can afford their freedom. It doesn't mean much in the East, but everyone volunteering in the regiment gains their freedom." "Volunteers?" Antienta rolled her eyes with a huff. Drawing up her knowledge she tried to halt his questions. "For the best of the Schola Progenium, you sure do ask a lot of questions." Without missing a beat she hopped into a prearranged carriage waiting for her. She gave a word and the carriage sped off without the Commissar, causing him to run and hop in the missing doors before he was left behind.

"Pardon me-" he sat down across from the Colonel, upset. "But waking up in a stranger's bed with a nothing more than a nod, and right after fighting for my life in a pit added to being knocked unconscious, I believe my questions are justified." Antienta huffed, saying nothing as she stared at the Commissar's eyes, crossing her arms under her breasts, she averted her gaze to the side of the carriage and observed six of her household guards, armored in boiled leather and chainmail, run down the main road of the city carrying two heavy machine guns and boxes of ammo. Despite the guard himself only being given a pistol, she did enjoy heavy weapons, and thus kept them in production. She remembered setting a monthly quota, but forgot the numbers The main road lead west, directly to the main gate of the city and originated from her palace. The carriage driver keeping a heavy pace on the horses easily outran the guards and kept tumbling down the road.

"Do you not have any motorized vehicles?" The Commissar asked after a long moments of silence. Twenty minutes of silence actually. The Colonel's gaze fell upon him. "Yes, but I prefer my horses. And the city isn't that large, I think," Antienta leapt out from her carriage as soon as I came to a halt, the Commissar at her heels as they reach the main gate. The Colonel disappears into a stone gatehouse and reappears climbing to the summit of the 70-foot wall.

She finally reached the top of the wall. She herself did not know how long it stretched, but she knew the walls were six feet thick. "They'll hold," She murmured to herself, giving a quick glance around herself. The battlements stretched across the wall with many stone gatehouses sprinkled along the walls with a garrison and a heavy weapons team. A guard dressed differently than the others and with a somewhat familiar face greeted her. She heard him speak some words, but instead was drawn to the edge of the battlements and found a pleasant surprise beyond her walls.

"Apparently, your city is being sieged." "Apparently." Colonel parroted The Commissar's words as he peered over his shoulder. A force of a thousand or so was assembled in front of her gate. Tents were being set up by camp followers in the back, the thousand assumedly southerners stood in two formations with two wooden ladders laid to the side. Three caravans stood off to the far left, waiting until the conflict was resolved. An unremarkable figure stood before the others with a small retinue. He did become remarkable once she remembered that Shri had a bastard son.

The Colonel let out a long sigh, "What are the-" "They want both your, and the Representative's head along with the rest of the city." "A thousand men… what do they think to accomplish? My guard is ten times their size and the Belle has her stores… southerners…." The captain glanced at Commissar, about to say something, but redressed the Colonel, "My lady, shall we send a- 'Messenger?'" A sly smirk grew on her face. Levy rethought his initial impressions of the woman. "Yes, but bring me an extra stabber," She gestured to one of the machine guns a few feet to her left. Levy had taken interest in the weapon. It looked like a large heavy stubber, but required two men to operate one, and was called a 'stabber'.

The six guards they passed before arrived on the scene, bringing ammo and two more 'Stabbers' By the time they arrived and set their guns, the messenger the Colonel sent with malicious intent had reached the besieging 'army' lines. From his point of view from up on the battlements, the slave had nothing in his hands and only had words to offer to Shri's was leading the siege against them. A few seconds passed, the slave spun on his heels and began running towards the gates. He would get far as three arrows planted themselves into his back. The boy who thought himself a Commander spun on his heels and walked away from the siege.

The Colonel crackled in laughter, ignoring the look Levy was giving her. She turned to her captain with a grin and gave an order. "Cut them down."

It first started with a loud tapping, a small rattle sounding after every piece of brass hit the stone battlements. Another tapping joined the first, then another, then another. Four Heavy 'Stabbers' Hardly a fraction of the city's defences and manpower, fired into the two formations waiting for a response to their demands.

The 12.7 calibre bullets, bought from Western factories, poured into the 1000 southerners who had the audacity to even try and attack the city's walls. Two guns were trained on each formation, each gun fired 650 rounds per minute, holding as many bullets as the boxes of ammunition held. The two rabbles of southern hunters and household guards broke ranks before the first fifteen bodies hit the ground. Two mounds of bodies already existing as the childish attempt of a siege failed horribly, and the force of 1000 dwindled to 300 in the first minute of fire.

The Colonel crackled once more in her amused voice. "A thousand… one, thousand. Heh… adorable." She tapped the closet gunner with her foot, pointing him in the direction of a splinter group from the main route. The gunner nodded without emotion as he swivelled his gun and fired three bursts into the back of the fleeing men. A bullet severed a leg, another tore off an arm, and a third managed a shoulder. The rest suffered cleaner deaths.

The tapping of the stabbers continued, castings bouncing off stone and bodies alike.

She frowned at those she ordered dead. "Are you using AP?" She tilted her head and questioned the gunner, looking at him from the corner of her eye. He elbowed his partner, who examined the chain of bullets they were firing, and called out, "Explosive caps, M'Lady!" The Colonel hummed, losing her smirk and instead glared at the corpses. "A waste of coin…" Not a single man survived the massacre, their bodies trailing only a few meters away from where they stood. Their route failing. She spun around to her captain and gave him instructions.

"Five more Stabbers spread them about the walls and organize some daily patrols. Get some slaves and clean up that mess. Send out some foresters and get some crosses. Not a single grave will be spared for these traitors. Or are they radicals? Start investigating anyone entering or leaving. Look for papers, their hair, eyes, or whatever. I want to know who's leaving and who's entering." She stepped forward and spat off the battlements. Giving a cold glare to the riddled corpses loitering in front of her city. She didn't know if Regimental Commanders were allowed to have property on Imperial Palaces, but all that matters is that the other Wardens think they can.

"That is… one way to deal with a siege…" said Levy, giving the Colonel another revaluation at her response to the waste of time. He gave her an inquisitorial side look, interested in where this infighting will lead. She said nothing but hummed, a small smirk growing on her face as she began to descend the wall's steps. She paused as a voice called out to her, it was one of her guards. "M'Lady! Are… are we at war?" The Colonel sized up the guard, peering into her eyes. She looked not afraid, but obviously upset. Antienta said nothing to her guard directly, instead, she turned and continued walking down the stairs.

"Time will tell… The bodies too,"

* * *

**Righty-righty. Congratulations to whoever reads this. I do recognize some of this is rather boring, and I'm (though even generally) poor at writing hand-to-hand. So do leave your reviews, tell me to go to hell, kill myself, or any of that lovely stuff. Or you could be nice and tell me why i'm such a sad excuse for a writer and even better how to fix that. Anyway, have a lovely day, and poka.**


	2. Belleusia 2

**Righty, chapter two, electric boogaloo. I actually did something this chapter, so that's nice. I had my first 'game' though it was a practice and that's basically the mid-scene this chapter. I'd probably be one more made up before I can actually play a game and write something, but, here we are.**

* * *

_His head had been cut off, or maybe his neck snapped. Did he actually manage to kill him? He couldn't feel anything, He could only see. Watch. Listen. Hear. It was red. Always red. A soft humming surrounded him. Was it always there? It grew louder. Someone shifted in the red, someone in front of his. Then something reached out and touched his shoulder. But he didn't feel it, only saw a movement in the red. A crunching was heard, it was distant, isolated. Then it got closer. Then it got louder. And it kept getting louder, and louder, and louder. His vision became clear, a flurry of sights and noises rushed to meet his open mind. Then a bullet took his ear off._

_His head snapped to the right, a flash of green and gold filled his vision, pushing his onwards, not letting him fall. His feet floated below him, moving forward as he was swept up in the human wave. A sudden rage, anger, a hatred filled him. But pain, even if it was an illusion to the mind, triumphs over all. _

_He reached up and tapped the side of his head. Calmly, he held the hand in front of his and only saw a dripping mess of red. He shook the hand and raised his head. He saw the back of a green helmet. It disappears as the wearer of the helmet fell forward. The man was toppled into a trench. Joining six others of similarly painted soldiers, squirming in their own blood. At the top of the mound stood a boy drenched in red. A piece of metal was melted into his mouth. Hectic Stars dotted his person and a plastic contraption spitting lead was held in his hands. There was nothing in his eyes. Just hate, and pain._

"_**FOR THE FLAG OF THE FREE!" **__A cry sounded throughout the stars. He looked to his right, not knowing what his hands were doing. A man with no face ran past him, brandishing a gleaming banner. The flag had a snake on the centrepiece. Panting green and obviously the centre of attention. A fox and a _lynx _stood small at its sides. The flag bearer charged at nothing. He, followed by dozens upon dozens of faceless men and women with green and gold armour, ran towards a red mist. Swaddled in fur hats resting on top of their helmets and garbed in thick cloaks that covered their painted flak armour, they poured forward. Dropping whenever a bullet cracked or a lance flew. _

_They all ran forward, trudging through the snow while lances of red, and flashes of yellow were thrown at the painted soldiers. Whenever one fell, another one simply hopped a step and took their place. The line kept advancing, not firing a shot. Until an order was bellowed suddenly everything stopped, And a roar of las-fire erupted. The formation continued charging._

_His head was flung to the left. The trench had seven bodies added to its count, but the boy wasn't there. Instead of a corpse with a melting head laid on top of the mound. Something hit his shoulder, he turned to his right and stared into the face of a woman. Her eyes were bloodshot, green, and tired. Her face was clean, save a scar running from her cheekbone to her lip. She wore no cover for her head but instead had a burnt flower tucked behind her ear. She wasn't clothed in any fur cloaks, but instead a dress a size too small, and a flak vest. Everything about her was green, save the black cloak on her back. Her armour was painted green, her dresses, the coils on her plasma pistol was green and even the powerfist radiating on her right hand was green. She stared through him and pointed her fist angrily in front of them. She shouted not at him, but the hundreds of faceless soldiers slipping past them in a mindless charge. _

"_**FORWARD! RETAKE THE FORTRESS! RETAKE NEMESIS! RETAKE TESSERAE!"**_

_He blinked. The woman was gone. Instead, a steaming corpse rested at his feet. He turned to face a bright light. He felt a las shot bury itself into his forehead. It was a burning pain, searing through his head. He fell back, then finally woke up._

* * *

He awoke with a start. Throwing himself up in the vast, and empty confinement of his onboard quarters. He gave an inquisitorial glare at his surroundings. The door was where it always was, his desk, a waste of space as usual, though he had space in ample supply. Decorations were here and there, nothing was unusual. The Inquisitor crawled out of bed and looked out into the space behind him. He was greeted by billions of dying planets and shining stars. Great rifts rippled in the vastness of the unknown. Everything was as it should be. But, everything was green.

"Damn it!" Right after her words, a shrill shatter of an object sounded. Followed by the clanking of a few silver utensils. Antienta gripped tightly at the wrist of her other hand, baring her teeth at the piece of metal taking place of her right hand. She gave a vicious glare to it, it's fingers all clenched, touching the palm. She used the same hand to signal a slave to clean up the mess.

"Do pardon… This…" She looked up to her 'guest' raising her right hand, managing to open it up to show her palm. Thankful it was responsive, but It didn't last for long before the hand clenched once again. She rolled her eyes at it and set her hand back down on the table. She shut her eyes and let out a deep sigh. Raising her head and returning to her meal, using a fork in her left hand as she poked at a slice of roast duck on her table.

Levy looked up from his meal as the commotion happened. The Colonel's 'guest' was a southern 'diplomat' A ragged old man, probably a household slave that couldn't read. He arrived at her gates with a piece of parchment with demands scribbled onto it. Levy himself had read over it, and though not as much as the Colonel, found it amusing. They wanted a payment of a few thousand 'coins'

Gold coins were the standard currency of this world. Each city had its own name, and version of the coin. But gold is gold. He had no idea how it compared to a throne, but gold is gold.

They wanted many things that neither could decipher, but mainly it was outlined that they wanted someone's head on a silver platter. The Colonel had read this, and after the dinner of duck, oranges, and some spiced wine, she had the Messenger's head cut off, and sent back to the south with a piece of paper labelled 'Few thousand coins' She had a good laugh out of it.

Southern diplomats didn't appear at the Belle's gates after that.

Months passed with no interesting events. Antienta stayed in her palace, while Levy had been walking through the city with a small retinue of slaves Antienta had given him. Leaving early in the morning and returning late at night. No news was brought to Antienta and she was never concerned with seeking it out, she rather let things play out until they were brought to her attention.

"So, how did you lose your hand, Colonel? That is if you don't mind me asking." Antienta received a random question one day of another week. She looked up at the Commissar dining in front of her. His attire never changed, though she couldn't say anything, seeing her dresses. They usually don't eat together, unless some prominent Freeman decided to call upon her for one reason or another. Yet here they were.

She raised the hand in question, giving it a glare before responding. "Oh? My mother cut it off. Something I did, don't quite remember it, but the planetary governor was kind enough to gift me this. I just wished it wasn't so defective." She expected for the prosthetic to act up as she mentioned it, but it seemed docile at the moment. She lowered the dysfunctional piece of metal sighing.

"Hmm. Can't say I've heard that story before. The Commissar took a bite out of some marsh plant given to him on a plate. He wasn't particularly fond of it, but it was better than the protein packs given to the ranks of the Astra Militarum. He set it down on the plate and changed the topic. "On a different note, the first company of your regiment has just finished their training. Eastenders surprisingly have a knack for lines and parade drills. Especially for merchants. I gathered the second group of slaves, it's a mixed company, and just put them through the introduction. Combat exercises begin on the morrow. "

He played with whatever remained on his plate before looking up. The Colonel's green eyes were filled with confusion. Her mouth was parted open and her face tilted away from him. Her hands falling into her lap. He let out a sigh, hanging his head closing his eyes as he explained.

"Colonel, to make you aware of the situation, the Battle Barge, '_The Drowned Lady' _Is currently in orbit. For the past few months, 'the _Lady_' has been sending down Valkyries to both 'The Belle' and the Planetary Capital, or whatever the Governor named the West. Bringing everything needed to industrialize the planet. Ad-Mech Engineers have arrived at the three cities, we've been neglecting to send anything to the south, and war materials and plenty of equipment have been sent to both the West and the East. Slaves arrived from both the North and the West while your slaves have been gathering at your gates. The Captain of your guard and I have been drilling them in the basics with your courtyards. We decided to let them develop their own combat styles while hoping for you to create a template doctrine. We were going to host a regimental drill for you to observe before we deploy. Anyway, the tryout for Serjeant begins in two days or so, we've already selected your Lieutenants and Captains from suitable candidates. A few freemen and some of your guard filled these positions. As soon as the last two Companies are fielded, we'll see what we can get from the '_Drowned Lady' _and work on making a regimental. Colonel, you really do need to work on being more aware of your surroundings."

The Colonel only blinked. She closed her mouth and gave an odd hum. Levy made a grimace and nodded. Giving a light chuckle as he stood up from the table after pardoning himself and made his way to his quarters. Leaving the wonderstruck Colonel alone in her dining room.

* * *

'_One, two, three, four…' _He counted the steps of the men before him. '_Five, six, seven, eight…' _He knelt with the second wave, eight easterners or 'Snakes' as they were being referred as of late, kneeling in green water with their lasguns on hand. Each wore their flak vests but had nothing on their heads or anything to decorate their uniforms. They had to earn those. He caught movement out of the corner of his eye. '_Nine, ten, eleven, twelve…'_ Five westmen struck off to the left. Their boots made soft splashes in the murky marsh as they weaved through trees whose leaves were replaced with strings of moss. Eight northmen or 'Foxes' trudged forward deeper into the marsh, hardly making a noise.' _Thirteen… twenty… Twen-_'

"FUER!" Someone screamed the word from inside the marsh. Suddenly a flash of red shined in the marsh, lighting up the darkness of the night. Followed by a ripple of red lances with a seconds timing between each shot. The vanguard of the 20 man squad went down into the bog, either at will or they fell dead. Not another word was spoken, but soon the one-sided ambush finally became a firefight as the vanguard began trading shots from the depth of the bog. Sticking their golden coloured lasguns out of the water and firing at whatever created the lances of red that buried themselves into their fallen comrades. Seconds would pass before the same shout detailing what was on a bear's back was heard. "FUER!" Another volley of 15 red lances struck the bog.

He could only hear what was happening, trees and mounds of earth blocking his vision. He glances to his sides, seeing blank faces in green flak. Everyone he knew he volunteered made it into the first company. Everyone but his Serjeant was a stranger to him.

"UP!" One of the newly promoted Serjeants bellowed out the order from the far left of the line. Her voice ringing throughout the marsh. He followed the order as per drill. The Commissar taught them that war was a 'Bloody Close Combat Drill.' He taught the west men and northerners different things but they didn't come to mind at the moment. He stood up tall along with the rest of the line. Shoulders back, his heels touching, his Triplex Pattern Lasgun stock tucked in his right underarm. His right hand was on the grip and his left hand was gripped at the bayonet hanging off his left waist. Depending on the next words bellowed would dictate his next action. He heaved a sigh as he shook himself, waiting for the order. He didn't particularly like the tactics the Easterners 'elected' for themselves. But he couldn't argue unless he wanted a bolt round to the back of the head.

"FORWARD!" He bit his lip, raising his hand from his waist and putting it on the chassis of his lasgun. He was now allowed to fix the stock against his right shoulder, which he did. But his shoulders were still back and his still heels pivoted to touch. If they weren't lacking so many men the Serjeant would be prowling behind while the corporal took her spot leading the formation. Eight advancing steps were taken by the eight snakes, Polkn had to slide to the right, seeing how there was a tree in his way. '_How the hell do they expect us to use a line formation in a marsh?_' Polkn thought to himself as the Serjeant bellowed for a charge.

The firefight had not died down one bit as the charging line reached the vanguard. In the terms that the foxes were taking pot shots while whoever was firing at them used volleys. Polkn ran ahead of the others. Once the order was called the line ended and everyone was too fend for themselves. The 'Superior discipline and will of the East' would be maintained in fervous charge, the refusal to retreat without order. And disciplined ranks of lasfire, where ever you were on the field, once the order was called. His lasgun was shouldered his finger along with the trigger guard, and his bayonet slapping against his padded thigh. He ran deeper into the marsh, falling to his knees as soon as he came up across a golden piece of flak armour sticking out of the bog. He kept his lasgun shoulder and reached out with his offhand to shake the body. It was unresponsive. He tried to glance at it, but his attention was caught by the streaks of red lances laying down timed fire on the bog. Firing at dead and living bodies who seemed to fire back even if they were hit squarely in the head. But soon as one head sunk into the bog another rose to repay the favour.

"FIRE!" Polk's eyes snapped instinctively to his sights where he managed to fire off a late las shot into the dark. The shot flew off from where he intended, firing with only one hand. He muttered a curse as the grip of his lasgun fell through his wet gloves. The barrel falling into the muck he knelt above.

"POLKN! GET A MOVE ON!" He looked to see his Serjeant bellowing towards him. Her back was turned to the firefight. She had green painted flak armour with a laspistol in her left hand and a wooden stick in her right. She pointed said stick at him and motioned him forward.

He gave the body a final shake before starting forward, picking up fixing his grip on his lasgun. His boots sploshed on the bog before he tripped, falling forward he stuck his lasgun out before him and used it to take the brunt of the fall. He shut his eyes as a splash of green water hit his face, but he forced himself to open his eyes as he threw his head up to see a red lance flying over his head. A scream sounded behind him, he rolled onto his back to see another snake fall into the murk of the bog. His helmet reaching the bottom of his boot.

"POLKN! MOVE!" He winced at the scream of his Serjeant once more, raising his head to see the upside-down face of his Serjeant screaming at him. He rolled back onto his front and used his lasgun to push himself up from the ground. He shivered as a sudden cold wind blew through the marsh. Not helping him and his soaking field uniform. He trudged forward into the blaze of las-fire, searching the horizon for a target to shoot out. But he saw were lines of red being thrown back at each other. "How am I supposed to fight back?!" His mindlessly screamed to himself, running after his Serjeant as she runs blindly into the kill zone. Though he stopped once more when a ripple of red lance was fired and one buried itself into her throat.

He stared wide-eyed at the dead corpse of his Serjeant. His eyes flicked to his right and he found himself staring down the sights of his lasgun. He thumb flicked at the firing settings of the lasgun, setting it on the burst, he pulled down on the trigger long enough to get six consistent las shots out and hopefully into the heart of some poor bastard before he took a red lance to the stomach.

* * *

He threw his head back and swallowed a breath. He tasted whatever existed in the green water he lied in as the scarf around his mouth was drenched in it along with the rest of him. ' Two dead… how many more…' He liked to count his kills. He had fired four las-shots, and two of them struck home. Or at least he thought. He fired at the darkness until the lances stopped coming from that particular direction. He threw his head back down into the bog at the centre of the marsh as he spied a lance hit a body too close to comfort. Shutting his eyes and holding his breath, he crawled forward, his lasgun in his arms. He had never swum before, being used to swinging a pickaxe at a deposit of salt instead of being used for the ability of 'Exemplary use of communication and tactics in mass number.' Or what the Commissar actually meant was, 'Good body bags for the vanguard.' He didn't care. His Serjeant was dead and already four of his squad mates followed him. He'll be able to get his sabre, commission, and opportunity easily after they killed off their ambushers.

He and four others finally emerged from the shallow depths of the bog. A tree directly in front of them and small mounds of wet earth piled through the marsh. Crawling out onto the soggy soil and learning their surroundings. They didn't get far, but enough where the main vanguard was behind them and the opposing red lances were not aimed at them. He got on his knees and glanced at the Foxes following him. They were all covered in golden flak armour with distinctive scarves over their mouths and unlike a typical turban, they wore undecorated field caps usually given to Serjeants.

His eyes focused on two foxes. He looked to the corner of his eye. Then he turned to the other two and looked at the other corner of his eye. He received three curt nods. He then turned around and crawled past the tree, running along with the elevated earth, moved westward, holding his lasgun by the grip and putting the stock under his underarm, using his left hand to feel at the earth before him. His eyes flicked around his vision. He moved on alone, his squads mates dispersing,

A red lance had buried itself into one of the four Foxes he had led out of the kill zone. Not thirty seconds after they got onto somewhat dry ground. His partner grabbed their body whilst it was still standing and draped it over herself as she threw herself to the ground. Watching the killer of his squad mate, Wazz raised his Triplex and double tapped the hostile from four meters away. 'Three.' He waited, standing up and huddling against a falling tree until the living squadmate crawled out from under the corpse before he himself moved on, deciding to double back to check on the other two. He wouldn't get far as a hand grabbed at his face from behind and a knife slide into his rib cage.

* * *

She was too late in seeing the northerner's assassin before she pivoted and put the assassin in her sights. A single pull of the trigger and the two corpses laid on top one another. A steaming hole in the second's head. She glanced to her right, seeing the two other red painted 'Lynxes' that were under her command. The fourth was watching their backs, while the fifth was unlucky enough to catch a lance to the ankle. They left him with the Snakes. They were positioned to provide overwatch. Though they were only slightly above the vanguard, which the snakes ended up joining, and they were on the same level of the marsh as most of the ambushes.

Occasionally one of the other two lynxes, including herself would fire off a shot into the darkness. The main problem was that they couldn't see anything in the dark, the one person having they cybernetic eye that could have helped them already disabled and left behind, but also how the vanguard was dead, and the Snakes more or less suffered the same fate. Only a few random las shots being fired at the darkness, while the valleys of the red lances ceased to be ordered and appeared in different positions.

"Royce, go back and see if you can fetch a snake or two," She tapped a lynx on the shoulder and jabbed her thumb over her shoulder. The man nodded, placing a prosthetic hand on the grass and pushing himself up, he spun on his knees and retraced their steps.

She ground her teeth as she stared past the sights on her Triplex, searching for something to shoot. She had completely neglected one of the most important rules of sniping. One Naydma would pay for. Always move after every shot.

She and her squad sat in silence for a minute. Royce never returned. Naydma grew nervous. She kicked Tie's left book and whispered to the lynx. Though he didn't respond. His flak helmet touching the mound of earth. She rolled onto her left side and peered at her squadmate. She prodded him with her arm, he didn't move. Squinting her eyes she got closer to his face to see his eyes wide open. They continuously flicked from Naydma to something to her right.

She could only let out a gasp as something kicked her in the stomach and rolled her into her back. A boot pressed down on her left shoulder and something prodded her helmet and something cold was pressed against her forehead. She looked up with to see a gleaming eye wink at her. Then she was shot point blank as a las shot was placed directly into her skull.

"SQUAD TWO IS DEAD! WIPED! GONE! EVERYONE UP! " A chorus of groans, moans, whines, greedy breaths and hacking up of water of 47 voices roared in the marsh. Foxes rose from the knee-deep bog in the centre of the marsh. Snakes rose up from the underbrush wiping mud and other guck from their faces and uniforms, the Lynxes wiped off their prosthetics and walked down from their mound. Followed by the Lynxes of the other squad. Snakes and Foxes pushed themselves up from the trees they rested 'dead' against, the brushes they laid in, and out of the soil, they threw themselves down on.

They all muttered their grumbles as they passed each other. Walking to a rallying point outside of the marsh. Trusting the Foxes in front of them to lead them safely through the Twilight.

They walked a mile before they finally reached the location of the Lieutenant of their fledgling platoon.

"Congratulations, Naydma, Kit, and Lulen. Your entire squad was wiped for the third time, and the enemy is still open to bring up their remaining platoons and ambush our knowledgeable company on its march to the south. Now, Mattis, Trick, and Ren. Your platoon fought to the last man defending the marsh from the southern advance. Your last remaining member, Serjeant Mattis killed off the last pocket of resistance and led the attack, gaining reinforcements from the 1st company, on a Southern Company marching onto the Belle. Easily smashing them like the ice-headed fucks they are!"

The Lieutenant was a Snake, one of the Colonel's guards. He was a tall man, shaded eyes, and liked to wear his uniform, sacrificing his flak vest to be able to show off his medals once he earned them, and couldn't be called out for it. Jurten was the Lieutenant of the 2nd platoon of the 2nd company of the 1st Belleusian Regiment. He went on demoting and promoting sergeants before gesturing for them to recollect their actual equipment lying in crates out in the middle of nowhere.

"Naydma, Trick, step down and relish your caps, las pistols and blades. Royace, and," He paused, taking a hand folded in his lower back and raising it to snap it as he tried to recollect Fox's name. "Wazz! There. Now, get your corporals, get your gear, and march back to the Belle. Its…" He glanced up at the singular moon orbiting the planet,' "Late… A/1-1 will be going against B/1-1 in a fire drill. Be in the courtyard by five. You'll be meeting 1/3 on the morrow. I'd best get there fast, and don't get bit by an adder on the way,"

Jurten offered a smirk, spun on his heels and began the rush back home with a small retinue for the platoon. Each Lieutenant picked a retinue, which most did vary. Jurten himself had a herbalist 'medic', a green vox caster and a member from the first company.

The two squad platoon swapped glances at each other and started marching after the lieutenant after getting in a formation. The foxes scattered in front of the collum, the snakes in a parade drill. And the Lynxes bringing up the rear in trail arms. They spent a good hour marching until they reached the gates of the Belle. Which they were forced to stay the night outside the city gates as the newly promoted Captain of the Warden's Guard set up curfews for the fate and rather discriminatory laws against the south and her people.

"Well… at least we got some company." One of the Snakes pointed out with dry humour at the rows of thousands upon thousands of wooden crosses that lined the roads leading to the Belle. Each man, woman, and child's crimes that lead them to be crucified was the terrible crime of being born a southerner.

* * *

She flicked her blade down, weakly parrying an underhand swing. She then rolled her wrist, sending a riposte towards his head. All she got, in turn, was a jolt down her left arm and a kick in the knee.

Her forearm hit the ground first, then the rest of her. She spun instinctively to her left, hardly a second too late as a blade sunk into the earth where she once laid. Instead of scrambling onto her feet, she swung awkwardly at her opponent's legs. The dull end of her sabre catching his right foot. Unlike her expectations, her weak swing did not pull his feet from out under him. And for that she got the flat end of a wooden sword smacked against her temple.

"Congratulations. Three minutes, a new record." Antienta cursed him, his swordsmanship and his smug tone as she shook the ringing from her head. She forced herself into her feet, sticking her training sword into the ground and raising herself.

The smug look the Commissar gave her improve her mood no further. They had gone through five drills and she had hardly landed a glance on the Commissar and his dyed great coat.

"You'll do well enough against any rabble with a twisted piece of metal. Anyone with anything larger or more than a week's training…." He didn't finish, only clicked his tongue is disapproval. "At least you can shoot off-hand," Antienta only huffed, ignoring the half-hearted compliment, glaring at the Commissar through ruffled hair, she raised up right arm, and with a growl charged at one of the most skilled warriors, the Schola Progenuim could offer to the galaxy.

It did not go well. It never went well. It never went well for Antienta.

Nor did it ever for the Regiment. It never went well for her Regiment.

The inspiring, heroic last charge doe not go well for Antienta. She was disarmed, knocked to the ground, the flat of a blade smacked against her temple once again and the tip of a blade pressed to her neck. She did appreciate that the Commissar's face wasn't mocking her from behind his high collar.

The nightly duel ended just as fast as any other duel. The slaves dispersed, guards moving on to continue their rounds and the Commissar spinning on his heels as he marched off to the makeshift barracks located in her courtyards for the regiment.

She felt quite idiotic. Hardly being an opponent in any type of duel while not having knowledge of what is going on in her own front yard. Again, the only redeemable factor of herself being a decent shot in her off hand.

She pushed herself off the sandy training grounds located somewhere in the right wing of her palace. She staggard off after the Commissar. Ignoring the faces of her guard who stepped off to the side to watch the duel that interrupted their nightly drills.

Ignoring the slowly dulling pain in her bones and joints, she forced her back straight and wiped at the bruises on her cheek. She found herself later on a balcony. She was immediately entertained on how fast her city had changed over the course of- what was it? Three months? The industrializing city that had maybe two or three lights on every night, was now a sparkling centre of light during the moonlit night. The roads of dirt were fully paved with concrete. Horses almost disappeared immediately from the streets. Small factories billowed smoke into the sky as they produced war material, and cars sputtered along the roads, stopping as slaves quickly ran across the many streets with newfound purpose.

She raised her head and saw the shadowy figure in the sky. While her people had grown accustomed to it, the sight of a battle barge in the orbit of the planet was awe-some to Antienta.

Antienta would finally get her childish wish of wanting to fly like a bird as her and her regiment were finally called to arms and went through the process of being shipped off to fight in the endless war that plagues her now maternal Imperium.

Of course, she would also get to achieve her wish of flying as the doors to the balcony was thrown open. She didn't get to turn around before a rough hand was placed on her shoulder and a dagger pushed through her lower back. By the time she gasped in pain, her legs were pulled out from under her and she was thrown from her forty-foot palace screaming bloody murder.

* * *

**False suspense that doesn't work because you only know these characters for two chapters! So yeah, don't have much to say. Again, leave criticism in the reviews and give them some actual purpose, and have a spiffing day.**


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